A little gratitude
by Chapin CSI
Summary: It's a few weeks before New Year's Eve and Spock has just saved the Captain and the ship. He was only doing his duty, but his crewmates think otherwise. Can't Spock take a little gratitude? A Spock story with a little S&J friendship thrown in.
1. Chapter 1

A little gratitude

I don't know if my Star Trek infatuation will last till December, so I decided not to wait to post this.

This is a J/S friendship story, but Jim doesn't appear in it.

* * *

"Happy New Year, Mr. Spock!"

Spock winced. 'Happy New Year' had replaced the formal 'good day,' and the more casual, 'how are ya' that the Enterprise crew usually used in their every day encounters, and the words still jarred in Spock's ears.

The year wasn't even over yet, to begin with; there were still twenty days to go, as he'd pointed this out to Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy when they first came up with the idea of a celebration. Determined to overcome Spock's reluctance, the Doctor had shrewdly noted that the crew deserved to have a party after their near-fatal encounter with the Coridians and, since they were bound to celebrate New Year's Eve anyway, it seemed _logical_ to combine two celebrations into one.

With his own reasoning used against him, Spock had put up no further objections. He knew only too well that once humans decided to hold a party, any occasion would do. Besides, they were right; the crew deserved a chance to decompress.

What he didn't foresee was that as Acting Captain, he'd be expected to take part on the festivities. He'd spent the day making token appearances in every section of the ship, sampling food, joining in the toasts, but mostly, (at least in his opinion), avoiding situations that might prove embarrassing later.

Now, eighteen hours later, he'd successfully visited most of the areas involved in the celebration. Sickbay was the last.

By now he'd learned that each Department had a welcoming committee by their main entrance, ready to give their visitors a rousing greeting complete with confetti and other paraphernalia related to the occasion. Hoping to avoid this, he'd used a lateral door...

Only to come face to face with a smiling, slightly tipsy Doctor McCoy.

"Happy New Year, Mr. Spock! Here," he added, deftly putting a party hat on Spock's head and a glass of Saurian brandy in his hand.

Spock unobtrusively removed the hat and handed it back. "Doctor," he said courteously.

McCoy gave him a critical look.

"Well, well, Spock. I can see that a full day of partying hasn't had much effect on you."

"It's been hardly a _full_ day, Doctor. The party started at -"

"What did you do, spill your drinks when no one was looking?" McCoy continued, "If that's what you did, then you'd better give me back that glass."

"I did not spill any drinks, Doctor. Alcohol does not affect me the way it does humans."

"Oh, yeah? Then I definitely want that glass back. I'm not wasting good brandy on someone who's not gonna get drunk with it." He unceremoniously took the glass from Spock's hand and downed it in a single gulp. "Wonderful," he muttered beatifically. "Just wonderful." He glanced at Spock. "So. What do you think of our little party?"

Mr. Spock glanced around. It looked just like every other party in the ship. Efforts had been made to decorate the area for the occasion, and Spock had to admit that turning a catheter into an ornament required great imagination.

McCoy noticed him looking.

"I swear that's a sterilized catheter, Mr. Spock."

There was a sudden commotion at the door just then. A group of engineers had entered the room, catching the attention of a half-dozen nurses –Sickbay's welcoming committee.

The sight of McCoys usually prim nurses hugging and kissing the engineers caused a big impression on Spock.

He was infinitely glad that he'd used a lateral door.

McCoy smiled at Spock's reaction.

"I hope our little displays of emotion won't lower your opinion of us, Spock."

"I am well acquainted with displays of human emotion, Doctor. I am also well acquainted with their methods of celebration. I was at the Academy far more years than you -I remember the parties well."

"Are you saying our behavior is juvenile?" McCoy asked, pretending indignation. Then, more good-naturedly, he added. "Come on, Spock. We had a near-death encounter with the Coridians. We're relieved, that's all." He glanced sideways at Spock. "We are grateful, too," he added tentatively. "Your quick-thinking saved the Enterprise."

Spock shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"I applied logic, Doctor; that is all."

"Well, I'm glad you did," McCoy said. He was silent for a moment, then deliberately added. "I'm also glad that _logic_ made you go into the Coridian ship to rescue the Captain. Some might call it heroic, some might call it -"

"It was my duty," Spock said uncomfortably.

"Exactly," McCoy said, as if he'd known all along what Spock's response was going to be. "But to the crew, it's more than that, Spock. You saved Jim; you saved the Enterprise from what could have been a fatal confrontation. That means a lot to them. If they want to show you their appreciation -"

"It is completely unnecessary," Spock cut in. He'd had enough of crewmembers bringing up the subject. He didn't need a reminder; he knew what he'd done.

McCoy hesitated for a moment, then said, "Listen, Spock; we've been six months in space now. We had a rocky start but I think it's time for you to leave that in the past."

Spock frowned slightly.

"Are you implying my behavior has been less than professional, Doctor?"

"No, Spock. I'm only saying you should relax a little. You saved the Captain and the ship; can't you take a little gratitude in return?" He paused. "For once in your life, can't you open up that hard Vulcan heart and take a little kindness from us?"

Spock didn't immediately answer.

"I am part of the crew," he said slowly. "I share its fate. But I am a Vulcan."

"Are you saying Vulcans can't accept gratitude?"

"No, Doctor. I am merely saying that I cannot behave like a human." He paused for a moment. "I do understand the crew's reaction, Doctor; what I do not approve of is the undercurrent of hysteria that seems to permeate their relief. They should quite simply, move on with their tasks and stop trying to thank me for what was only my job to do."

"Even so -"

"We shall be facing dangerous situations in the course of our mission," Spock continued. "They need to learn to reign in their emotions if they hope to survive; otherwise -"

"Oh, all right," McCoy said, rolling his eyes, "Have it your way, Spock." Then, under his breath, he muttered, "You miserable, green-blooded weasel."

Spock glanced sideways.

"Thank you, Doctor. You, at least, are starting to behave normally again."

McCoy opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He smiled despite himself.

"Ok, Spock. I'll keep my gratitude to myself. I'll do you a favor, all the same. My nurses are planning to show you their appreciation at the strike of midnight. If being kissed by a dozen young women doesn't faze you, then maybe the fact that they're also planning to dispel the rumors that Vulcans aren't ticklish, will."

Spock hesitated for a couple of seconds -Doctor McCoy could, after all, be merely teasing him- then discreetly left the bash.

Through the lateral door.

--------------

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A little gratitude

I don't know if my infatuation with Star Trek will last till December, so I decided not to wait to post this.

Jim doesn't really appear in this story, but his actions lead to a turning point here.

* * *

Spock went straight to the bridge. Officers had been taking turns manning the Enterprise in order to give everybody a chance to celebrate, and while his own shift didn't start till two in the morning, there was no reason for him not to start it earlier.

He discarded the idea as soon as he entered the bridge. It was Ensign Pavel Chekov's turn, (a fact that he was clearly proud of), and it suddenly occured to Spock that relieving him earlier could be misconstrued as a lack of confidence in his abilities -an impression that was to be avoided at all costs.

On the other hand -and this may have been what tipped the scales in Spock's decision- there was also a slight possibility that Chekov might, quite unexpectedly, be grateful to be relieved earlier, and the last thing Spock wanted was to have yet another crewmember feeling obliged to him.

Then there was Uhura, who rose from her console the moment she saw him enter the bridge.

"We haven't filed the report on the Coridian incident yet, Captain," she said, meaning _he_ hadn't filed the report. "I wouldn't mention it," she added sheepishly, "Except that Admiral Blunt has been asking -"

"Of course," Spock said mechanically. "I shall file it today." He hesitated, then stepped back into the lift. "I will be in my quarters, Lieutenant."

Once the doors closed, Spock uncharacteristically leant on the wall. He wasn't physically exhausted, but there was no denying that the recent events had left their mark on him. Just the fact that he hadnt't finished his report was a sign. Usually the easiest of tasks, this time it had inexplicably turned into an uphill battle. All he had to do was dictate the bare facts of the Coridian incident into the computer. In fact, he'd already told all about the explosive device he'd planted in the Coridian ship and about finding Jim Kirk's cell. It was only when he had to describe the rescue itself that he found himself at a loss for words.

The unadorned facts were simple enough: He'd found Jim Kirk, got him out of jail, and together they'd escaped the Coridian ship. But the emotional elements of the rescue kept intruding. He didn't just remember finding the Captain's prone body; he _relived_ the anguish he felt when he turned Kirk over and frantically patted his face, hoping –praying- he hadn't been subjected to Coridian torture. Very few survived it.

Spock remembered those frantic seconds well. More vividly still, he remembered the utter relief he felt when Jim opened his eyes and recognized him.

"Come on!" Spock had urged, using that expression for the first time ever, yet instinctively knowing that Jim would respond to it. Weakly, Jim had reached for Spock's arm and held on to it, and to Spock it was as if Jim were drawing energy from him. And maybe he was. Miraculously, Jim had been able to stand on his own.

"The ship?" Jim had asked, meaning, of course, The Enterprise.

"Out of danger."

"Let's go, then."

And then there was the moment when they'd stood side by side, waiting for Scotty to beam them up. They could hear the Coridians running in their direction, screaming that Jim Kirk had escaped. They'd burst upon them at any minute -

"This is it, Spock," Kirk had said casually.

Spock didn't reply. He knew what Jim meant; they were probably going to die, but it was all right. The Enterprise was safe; their crewmates were safe. It was worth it.

Spock had felt utterly at peace with himself.

And maybe it was that feeling of peace that was causing his present turmoil. Because now he knew that he _cared. _Oh, yes; he cared for the crew. Enormously. He'd gladly die for them –his crewmates; his… his –

His _brothers and sisters_.

Alone in the turbo lift, Spock snorted softly. No wonder he couldn't finish that report; he'd let his emotions take over. The Coridian incident had affected him just as much as it had affected the rest of the crew, but fortunately, the consequences could be easily be dealt with.

The turbo lift was about to reach the Officers' Deck, and Spock straightened up in anticipation. The doors opened to a practically deserted hallway. He was glad; silence and quiet were precisely what he needed to work on his report. He was confident that he'd be able to finish it this time. All he had to do was stick to the facts, and be concise. Conciseness was, after all, a quality he'd often been praised for.

He was still musing on this when he entered his private quarters; so preoccupied, in fact, that he didn't immediately realize he was in someone else's rooms.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Part three

I don't know if my infatuation with Star Trek will last till December, so I decided not to wait to post this.

Jim doesn't really appear in this story, but his actions lead to a turning point here.

* * *

Fruit baskets. There were dozens of them covering every available surface of the room -the desk, the sideboards, and even the sitting areas, and the sight was so unsettling, Spock stood rooted at the spot. Someone in the Enterprise was hoarding fruit, and there was no visible clue as to the responsible party's identity; no personal items or anything he might recognize.

Spock stood in uncharacteristic indecision for a few more seconds before logic reasserted itself: He had _not_ made a mistake; this was his room. There was a simple explanation for all this, distasteful though it might be: Somebody was playing a prank on him.

Spock calmly walked up to the desk. He gingerly picked a basket. There were three red plums in it and a card that read, _'Happy New Year, Mr. Spock!'_ and below, _'Greetings from the Sanitary Department, Deck three.'_

Mechanically, Spock put it down and picked the next, this one holding oranges and limes. It came from Sickbay, and Dr. McCoy had scrawled something below the formal greeting.

_'One lime a day keeps scurvy away._

_And don't tell me Vulcans are immune to Scurvy, Spock; you can't possibly know that!'_

Spock walked around in a daze now, checking on the rest of the baskets. There were Andorian apples from the Science Department; Orion grapes from McCoy's nurses; peaches from the Engineering A Section; nances from the B section… and so on.

Spock shook his head in disbelief. Fruit wasn't rationed in the strict sense of the word but it was a valuable commodity all the same. It was evenly provided to the crew with nutrition and variety in mind, and now these… these _humans_ had foregone their share in order to give it to him!

_Stupid humans. _He almost said the words aloud. He was trying to muster some indignation at his crewmates' actions, but couldn't quite manage it. How could he? He'd brought this on himself, after all. A simple 'you're welcome' from him would have saved everybody the trouble. By not acknowledging their gratitude when they first offered it, he'd forced them to _show _it to him.

And what a way to show it! Looking at the baskets, Spock couldn't help feeling admiration for his crewmates' resourcefulness. They'd even constructed the baskets themselves; he could tell where the baskets came from by the materials alone: Wire, from the Engineering Department; gloves, from the Science Department; catheter tubes (again!) from Sickbay, and so on.

Shaking his head, Spock considered the situation he was in. They did not really expect him to eat all this fruit by himself, did they? Gluttony was not logical. He could storage it, of course; he could simply sent it back –

No, not that. It was a gift, and as a Vulcan, he held gift-giving in high esteem. The difference was that for a Vulcan, gift-giving occasions were rare, and gifts ought to have some transcendental significance, while humans rarely needed a valid excuse to lavish gifts upon others. That was perfectly all right, if you were a human. But as Spock had tried to explain to the Doctor, he was not a human. Or, more correctly, he was a half-Vulcan, half-human holding on to his Vulcan side. With his planet blown to pieces, it was all he had left.

Lately, he had the feeling –no; not a _feeling_; he had the impression that his human crewmates expected him to start behaving like them.

Not Jim Kirk though; after his rescue from the Coridians, the Captain had kept his thanks sparse and to the point: 'Good job, Spock,' was all he said before he was wheeled to Sickbay. He looked uncomfortable when he spoke -not surprisingly, considering he and Spock were still at odds with each other as the Doctor had correctly pointed out.

Thinking of the Captain reminded Spock of the report he had yet to finish. Welcoming the distraction, Spock set out to clear his desk, only to find he had a pile of baskets and nowhere to put them, (save for the floor, but no Vulcan would ever consider putting his presents on the floor!).

There was only one place left, Spock realized; it was hardly more appropriate than the floor, what with the strict regulations against keeping food in one's sleeping quarters, but it was only a temporary measure and besides, it wasn't as if he were actually planning to eat there.

He wasn't entirely comfortable taking the baskets into his bedroom, however, and his discomfort only grew when he realized his crewmates had been in there too.

They'd left a box on his bed, and the sight was just as astonishing as that of the fruit baskets. The box was large, about four-feet long; it was wrapped in the sturdy foil used by Starfleet carrier ships, and so heavy it had sunk into the mattress.

Spock put the baskets on the pillow and cautiously bent to examine the box. Familiar seals were overlapping on the foil: The Potemkin… The Huron… The Stargazer… Freight ships, with the exception of the Starship Stargazer, which had been within sight of the Enterprise early that morning.

There was another seal, he noticed; it was the Captain's seal, which meant the box had been brought on board under Jim Kirk's orders.

Frowning, Spock broke the seals, one by one, a vague idea starting to form in the back of his mind. There was something familiar about the size of the box -

It couldn't be, of course.

It couldn't –

But it was.

Inside the box there was another; a Vulcan chest to be more precise. He'd recognized it anywhere; he'd left in storage after he reenlisted in the Enterprise six months before.

Crews going on long voyages were encouraged to bring only their bare necessities, and while First Officers could certainly bring more personal items than the average crewman, Spock had followed the rules to the letter. He'd left his most precious possessions behind: His lirpa; his lyre; Vulcan art pieces he'd inherited and others he'd acquired over the years. Everything he cherished was in that chest, swathed in the red cloth that his mother had lovingly weaved for him.

Spock's hands shook as he entered his personal code on the lock. Released, the lid sprung open, and Spock had a glimpse of red cloth and smooth stone. Until then, he had not really allowed himself to believe this was his chest or that it reached him intact. But it was.

But how? Looking at the seals on the foil, he could easily follow the chest's progress as it was passed from ship to ship till it reached the Enterprise. The Captain must have pulled numerous strings to accomplish this; he had probably called upon old debts –except that a young Captain like Kirk could hardly have any old debts to collect. It was more likely that he'd _acquired_ a few debts in order to bring this box, or more probably, _broken_ a few rules…

It was a sobering thought.

Spock stared at the chest for a few moments more, then gently, regretfully, he put the lid back.

He could not accept this. There were regulations, and they were there for a reason. It didn't matter that the Captain himself had sanctioned the return of his chest; Spock didn't want it –not like this.

'Can't you take a little kindness, a little gratitude?' The words came back to him yet again. Yes, he could. He could accept gifts, but this was too much. He couldn't take it; not from _him _–

_Not from him. _

Spock looked up, stunned by this last thought. He remained frozen for a moment, his eyes staring at the opposite wall but really looking inwardly.

He had been wrong all along, he realized: It wasn't his Vulcan side that had been resisting his human crewmates' advances; it was his human side -the part of him that found it difficult to forgive and forget; the part that, hurt by his distant past, couldn't bring itself to trust anybody –least of all, Jim Kirk, who, ironically, had tried the hardest to be friendly, only to meet with Spock's rejection every time.

No wonder he'd kept his thanks brief and to the point.

But even he couldn't leave it at that; like his crewmates, he'd tried to show his gratitude in some tangible way. And like his crewmates, he'd gone overboard.

Spock shook his head.

Why did his crewmates have to be so exuberantly _human_? Why couldn't they show some restraint for once?

_And what was he going to do with them?_

And the answer to that question was so obvious he couldn't help smiling a little. What was he going to do? Protect them, of course. They needed someone to watch over them, and teach them some self-control.

He was willing to do just that.

He was also willing to show them that, despite appearances, Vulcans did understand the concept of gratitude. They were also extremely gracious in their acceptance of gifts. These gifts, especially. They were a celebration of life, after all.

He picked a plum from a basket and rubbed it on his shirt, (a habit he'd inadvertently picked from the Captain), and then bit into it. It tasted exceedingly sweet.

* * *

Note: The 'nance' is a Guatemalan fruit, the size of a cranberry, yellow and very tasty. Lucky Mr. Spock!


End file.
